Denial
by January Rose
Summary: This came out of a misunderstanding where a friend tried to tell me they liked HermioneRon and HarryCho, and ended up chopping out the middle two. Hermione thinks she's going crazy. She's not a Lesbian skirt chaser, she's not.


I looked across the great hall at the perfection that was Cho Chang and sighed, not even really paying any mind to my actions. The object of my attention swung her shining inky black hair over her shoulder as she laughed at something someone had said, unaware of my interest or attention.

A small voice at the back of my head said that I shouldn't be doing this, and I knew that, as annoying as that voice happened to be, it was probably, no **definitely**, right. Then, if I knew this to be a truth, and I had every intention of doing it, why wasn't I looking away, turning back to the conversation my friends were having and try my hardest to banish the unwanted, _vile_ thoughts that were floating across my mind?

Besides the fact that the conversation was about Quidditch; something I must guiltily confess that I abhor, I could not find an excuse that was decent enough to fool myself. I could not make my eye follow the better reasoning of my head, the reasoning that had gotten me through most of my life with a minimal amount of damage, or what was considered such when you were friends with mine. I sighed again, more heavily, and this time in annoyance rather then… well, you know.

She was getting up to leave, now, and my eyes determinedly tracked her swaying rear through the hall, cursing myself each second that my eyes did not obey my desperate commands. Giving up, I shut them tightly, figuring looking at nothing, or rather the inside of my eyelids my logical half insisted on adding wryly, was better then admitting I was tracking someone's ass like some cheap lesbian skirt chaser, of which, to my current knowledge, I was neither until practically this moment.

Calmly as I could, I counted out ten Mississippi's in my head, a muggle trick I had picked up in primary school, before slowly and cautiously reopened my eyes, just in time to see the arse, and the person attached, that I was **not** looking at leave the hall. Oh fucking hell…

With the knowledge only that I had to get the hell out of that room or I would crack, I left my plate only half-eaten, grabbed my bag and quickly swung it over my shoulder, walking as quickly as I could towards the ornately carved oak doors that marked the exit, my friends calling after me, clearly confused at my uncharacteristically erratic behaviour, without receiving reply.

I walked haphazardly through the halls of Hogwarts, thinking vaguely that it was a good thing that the majority of people were still at lunch so not to see my unravelling. Bewildered, bemused, befuddled and aware that they all basically meant the same thing, my feet guided me to the only room in the school in which I could always take refuge; the library.

I arrived before I had even quite decided where I wished to go, then realizing where I was, I raised my chin, and pushed one of the nondescript double-doors open, barely breaking stride, as I headed towards my favourite by-myself-only research table. The main reason for my favouritism was the fact that the table was tucked in a corner in such a way that you had a good view of the room's only entrance, without being able to be seen in return. It was perfect, and suited my needs just as perfectly at the moment.

I casted a quick comfort charm on the chair I was planning on occupying before I reached the table so that by the time I actually slid into my seat, it was soft comfy and warm to my legs. It was perfect for long periods of studying, or in this case a mix of brooding and self-inspection. I sighed for the third time in a short period, and decided I needed a new action.

What the hell was wrong with me? I wondered for the third time in my seemingly circular pattern of thought, placing my face in my hands, before sliding my fingers through my hair in frustration. My thoughts kept sliding back to Cho Chang and her bloody perfect lips, superb cleavage and sublime golden legs no matter how many times I firmly attempted to think of something, _anything_ else. I needed to get drunk, point blank.

As soon as this thought crossed my mind, a throaty and humourless laugh escaped my lips, sounding harsh and sombre and quite unlike my own usually cheerful laughter. Alien, but a lot of things that were becoming normalcy were once strange and unheard of concepts to my ordered and structured life. Still, I couldn't help but imagine the shocked expressions I would receive should my previous sentiment be broadcasted to my classmates. Imagine someone as seemingly innocent and, by reputation, pristine as myself wanting, like a dehydrated man wants water, to get utterly and completely pissed.

I nearly laughed again, it would be so irregular through there eyes… but then again, what did they know, anyways? Strangely, the thought was almost comforting, which, ironically, was slightly unsettling, and only because it was the most soothing thought I had had in almost an hour. Go figure.

After this strange contemplation finished its wandering trail through my head, my thoughts returned to Cho _fucking_ Chang, and, dropping my head onto the table, I groaned. My normally rational-obsessed brain wasn't giving me any answers, a rare occurrence in itself, and I actually had a charms paper due next period that I hadn't as of yet touched, almost as if my brain was trying to give me more then the already overwhelming proof that any sense I had once possessed had now officially left the building.

Begrudgingly, I dragged out a piece of parchment I had in my bag with the idea in my head that I should at the very least attempt an effort on the stupid "Effects of Memory modification on Non-human subjects" Essay, lest Flitwick call a state of emergency across the entire school because his 'best student' had not even begun a piece of homework that had been assigned a few weeks before.

The mere thought of the complete chaos this would probably cause for my reputation was enough to make me groan again, before digging for a bottle of ink that was not empty in the disorder that currently inhabited my bag, coming up with three unsuitable candidates before finally finding a small jar of emerald green ink that had been given to me by Pavarti a few years before after her upsetting "date" with Harry to the Yule ball, when she claimed to be so stricken by grief that she could not bare to own anything that reminded her of there 'broken love' (her words, not mine), especially not ink the exact hue of his eyes. This was despite her date with a handsome Beauxbatons student the very next available opportunity. Drama Queen.

Wondering vaguely why I still had the ink two year later, I began scrawling by memory something to do with the subject of the essay, hoping to _gawd_ Flitwick let me off easy if I feinted illness. I had rather become a better liar then I was comfortable with in the past six years, and I could definitely fake my way through a headache and an, if necessary, upset stomach as well if I was called upon in a jiffy, and I was in some twisted way proud to say it would be quite convincing. In any case, the majority of teachers in this school had a soft spot for me, and I doubted any one of them, with the possible exception of Snape, would go farther then a slight chasting if I didn't hand it in, but I knew my classmates, and certainly my friends would consider this an enormous tell as to my current state of mind. Well, the fact that I was upset, not questioning my orientation.

And so I wrote. I made up a load of things that sounded right and I prayed to a god I didn't believe in that Flitwick didn't get too concerned about the whole thing. The last thing I needed was to be sent to the school's newly appointed guidance counsellor, instated because of all the kids who's parents were recently off-ed by Death Eater's or Co., and I certainly didn't need an ugly woman with glasses the size of thimbles telling me I could trust her. I know very well that she's a horrible gossip. The press would have a hold of this by the end of the day, I can assure you. 'Harry Potter's best gal-pal, gay?' or something to that effect, I can see the headlines now…

I cheerfully thought how well I was doing, not thinking of vivid grey eyes and sexy female smiles, and a certain Ravenclaw, only to be reminded and drawn back to square one. No, negative two… This had to stop. I quickly jotted a finishing sentence, prayed once more to a non-existent god that it made some semblance of sense, and then cast a drying spell on the parchment so I could roll it up.

I stuffed the roll in my bag, not really caring if it got scrunched, and then closed my eyes and began rubbing my temples, wondering if there was some kind of test that you could take to give you a definite yes or no answer. I was beginning to think that this indecision was worse then knowing either way… I supposed I could go kiss the girl, see if I felt anything, but Cho Chang's friends had a habit of being blabber mouths and I didn't really want to know badly enough to have my name scrawled in the 3rd floor girls washroom on the 1st cubicles wall in part with all the other known lesbians at Hogwarts. I had to do something, and I didn't know what. God help me, if god even existed. This is what I had become, and even as it pulled me willingly deeper, I felt a little bit sick to my stomach.


End file.
